I close the planner and begin gathering my things, stuffing papers into my bag and pulling on my coat. The fabric's still cold from hanging on the back of my chair all day, and I shiver as I work the buttons through their holes. My scarf hangs from the coat rack by the door, and I'm reaching for it when I hear heavy footsteps in the hallway, moving toward my classroom.
A man appears in the doorway just as I'm wrapping my scarf around my neck. He's tall and broad-shouldered, wearing an expensive-looking black coat that falls to his knees. Dark hair frames a face that's all hard angles and controlled expression, and his brown eyes scan the room before settling on me. Behind him, I catch a glimpse of another man, equally imposing, standing just outside the door with his hands clasped in front of him.
I freeze and stare at him, feeling a bit intimidated. This man doesn't belong in this school. That much I know. He's not a parent I've ever seen, and he doesn't strike me as the child advocate type. My pulse kicks a little as I take a deep breath and try to calm myself.
"Can I help you?" Unease crawls up my spine.
"Ms. Noemi Dragunova, I need to speak with you." The man who remains yet unidentified doesn't move from the doorway or offer his hand or a smile or any of the social niceties that usually go along with meeting a new person. His features are stern and focused on me. But I have no clue who he is.
I lower my hand and take a small step backward, putting more distance between us. "I'm just leaving for the day. If you need to discuss something regarding one of my students, you'll have to come back Monday during school hours and check in at the office first."
He takes a step into the classroom, and the man behind him shifts position to remain visible in the doorway. My pulse hammers against my throat now, loud enough that I can hear it in my ears. Something's very wrong here. Parents don't approach teachers like this to corner them in empty classrooms after dismissal with backup waiting in the hall.
"This can't wait until tomorrow." He moves closer, and I notice the way his coat falls open slightly to reveal a suit underneath, expensive fabric tailored to fit his frame perfectly. "It's about one of your students. You might want to come with me."
My mouth goes dry. "Which student?" But before he answers, I already know about which one he's speaking.
"Sasha Koryabin."
Hearing Sasha's name twists my gut, driving the air from my lungs and making my knees feel weak. Okay, so this man isn't an advocate or a doctor, but I'm not sure who he is. Sasha has no father on record, only his mother, and none of this makes sense.
"What about Sasha? Is he alright? Is his mother…" The words tumble out too fast, tripping over each other in my desperation for information.
"Come with me and I'll explain." He gestures toward the door, but there's nothing inviting about the motion. It's more of a command, and every instinct I have screams at me not to follow him.
"I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what's happened." I straighten my spine and force myself to meet his eyes, even though looking at him makes my skin crawl. "If something's wrong with Sasha, you can tell me here."
His expression doesn't change, but something flickers in his eyes. Impatience, maybe, or irritation that I'm not complying immediately. "His mother is dead. The boy is staying with me now, and he needs help. Your help, specifically."
His words don't make sense. I hear them individually but can't process them as a coherent statement. Sasha's mother is dead and he's staying with this brute? I shake my head, trying to clear the fog that's descended over my thoughts. "I don't understand. Who are you? Why would Sasha be staying with you?"
"My name is Mr. Gravitch. That's all you need to know right now." He takes another step closer, and I press myself backward against the desk. "The boy is frightened and won't eat. He's been asking for his mother or to go to school. So you're coming with me to help him settle."
"I can't just leave with you. I don't know you. I need to contact the school administration, verify?—"
"There's no time for that." His voice cuts through my protest as his hand shoots out toward me. "We're leaving now."
He moves so fast, I don't have time to react. One moment, he's several feet away and the next, his hand is wrapped around my upper arm, fingers digging into my flesh through the layers of coat and sweater. He pulls me away from the desk and toward the door, and I stumble over my own feet trying to keep up with his pace. The second man steps aside to let us pass, then falls into step behind us as we enter the hallway.
"Wait, stop, you can't—" I try to dig my heels into the floor, but my boots slide uselessly across the slick tile. "Let go of me!"
He doesn't respond, doesn't even acknowledge that I've spoken. He just keeps walking, dragging me along beside him with a grip that's going to leave bruises. We pass closed classroom doors, empty hallways, the office that sits dark and locked because everyone's already gone home for the weekend. No one sees us or hears me shout for help. The school is completely empty except for the janitor, and he's likely in the basement or on the opposite side of the building.
We burst through the main entrance into the cold afternoon air. Snow falls around us in thick flakes that immediately cling to my hair and coat. A black SUV idles at the curb directly in front of the doors, exhaust billowing white in the frigid air. The man—Mr. Gravitch—pulls me toward it while I thrash against his hold, my free arm swinging wildly as I try to connect with any part of him that might make him release me.
"Help! Someone help me!" The words tear from my throat, but the street's empty. School ended half an hour ago. All the students and parents are long gone.
The second man moves ahead of us and opens the back door of the SUV. Gravitch shoves me toward the opening, and I grab onto the door frame, trying to brace myself against being forcedinside. My fingers ache from gripping the metal, cold biting through my skin until I can't feel anything but the burn of frozen steel. He pries my hands loose with his free hand, then pushes me hard enough that I fall across the back seat.
Before I can scramble back toward the door, both men are inside with me, one on either side, pinning me between them. The door slams shut, and the locks engage and hands grab at my wrists, pulling them behind my back. I feel something rough and fibrous wrap around them, binding them together so tightly that the material cuts into my skin. I scream, but someone shoves a cloth into my mouth, pushing past my teeth and filling the space until I'm gagging on fabric that tastes like dust and oil.
Tears stream down my cheeks as I thrash between them, kicking out with my legs until one of them drapes a leg over my ankles and holds them still. The SUV lurches into motion, pulling away from the curb and accelerating down the street. I can see the school growing smaller through the back window, the familiar brick building disappearing as we turn the corner.
My mind races between terror and confusion and the desperate need to understand what's happening. Sasha's mother is dead. This man claims the boy is with him. He needs my help, but none of that explains why I'm being dragged from my classroom and bound like a criminal. Why couldn't they simply explain the situation and ask for my assistance properly?
Nothing about this makes sense, and the more I try to piece together the logic, the more frightened I become.
I want to scream at the men who've taken me, but all I can do is make muffled sounds behind the gag. He watches me for another moment, then turns away to stare out the window at the passing landscape.
